Evan blinked, looking down at his hands and realizing that, somehow, he was back in his own adult body. His hair wasn't the wild mop that he'd had in Sunnyvale Institution and he had his real clothes back.
As used as he was by now to regaining consciousness in absolutely strange situations, he honestly expected something different to happen
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[[OOC: Note, Ryuk has shinigami eyes that can see a person's name and lifespan-or in this case that he's dead. Unlifed? Fuck it, he's dead.]]
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Evan shakes his sleeve back on his wrist and checks his own pulse to find his heart thumping away at a normal pace.
"Not dead anymore. Sorry to disappoint."
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"Good guess, fuckbag," he mutters under his breath before turning around fully to face whichever asshole this seems to be. "What's to you aside from the 'happily-being-creepy' vibe you obviously enjoy giving off?"
Evan took another breath, refusing to let whoever this was get to him. He's been through much worse than a few crazy questions, after all.
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((Mun also says Hi ho! and if you're not familiar with him, Starman is a DC superhero, member of the Legion of Super-Heroes of the 31st century, currently in the 21st century serving with the Justice Society. He's also schizophrenic, and lacking 31st-century medicine, quite wackaloo, in a good way.))
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After a moment, he shook his head to clear it before opening his mouth and finally answering the question, "Uh, a fuckbag's an...extremely undesirable person. You know, like..."
Evan trailed off, wondering if describing that a fuckbag is like an asshole was truly the way to go here.
"I...don't think I have any non-anatomy-involving ways to describe exactly what a fuckbag is, unfortunately."
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Evan scowled, then, remembering how desolate and...other things he didn't care to remember but knew he wouldn't forget...prison had been.
"It just works, okay?"
Evan's eyes widened then as he realized how he'd sounded, "Sorry! Sorry, I just..."
Evan took yet another breath, "Life hasn't been very...enjoyable this past year and I guess I thought I was getting away from all that. I don't even know where I am."
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Either the young man had been through a severe ordeal indeed, or the young man had partaken of psychoactive potions.
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"Um, I...I don't actually know why I wrote that. It's...I can't explain."
They'll think I'm crazy. Why the hell did I write that?
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"I have this hereditary...power, ability...some damned thing, I never -- "
Evan's breath left him and he slid down the wall to the floor. He stared past the long-bearded guy talking to him and let his eyes slide out of focus.
"I can go back into my own memories, using journals I've been -- "
But then Evan sighed, remembering what Dr. Redfield said about the journals never existing. Fuck that.
"I've been writing them since I was a kid because there were holes in my memories and my neurologist thought that keeping track of my days could help me fill them."
Evan laughed darkly. "He didn't know how right he was."
Hi, Dumbledore-mun! I still adore him. *nods
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"It's not the same! The problem is me! I'm like...a ticking timebomb! Would you like me to list the reasons everyone around me's lives turned to shit because they did something so selfless as care about me!"
Evan balled his hands at his sides and turned away again. "They were all better off without me. Trust me on that."
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"Your answers are interesting, Evan Treborne. I suspect your sense of comedy is more useful to this school than 'legitimate' psychological counseling. You should bribe with storytelling, next time. You could make any truth a yarn the likes of which old troubadours would be jealous."
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Evan managed, somehow, to hold in a snarl. "My life is comedy to you, you side-show reject?"
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"Good for you," he bit out, unable to pretend civility at this point in life.
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